


They Were

by carsatan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, This is cute I swear, first overwatch fanfic, the wifi was down for half an hour and this is what i wrote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7493100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carsatan/pseuds/carsatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo notices how different America is, and how different his new teammates are</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Were

**Author's Note:**

> First Overwatch fanfiction I've published, I love McHanzo so much. Find me on tumblr at the-war-goes-on.tumblr.com  
> I love taking requests!

Hanzo learned a lot of things about his new team, and about America, he learned a new thing every day it seemed like. 

They were loud, very loud, boisterous, constantly shouting, laughing loudly at odd jokes, crude jokes, jokes that weren’t so funny at all. It was very odd. 

Jesse McCree had to be the loudest of them all, the Southerner constantly laughing loudly, calling out ‘Howdy’, tipping his hat to everyone he came across. 

Hanzo ignored him. The man was much too loud for his tastes. Hana was just as loud, constantly shouting at a portable gaming system in her hand. 

They were quite a bit taller. 

Hanzo himself stood at 5’8, not a bad height at all from Japan. He knew he wasn’t the tallest man around, but, here, they were so much taller. Soldier 76, and Jesse McCree, both towered over him, standing a tad above 6’. 

He felt so small compared to them, preferring to stand next to Lucio, or in the back. Even if he couldn’t see what was going on, he didn’t need a visual. He had his ears, which was good enough for him.

They said such odd things. Things that never made any sense.

“Hold your horses, ya seem in a hurry,” McCree had grinned down at him. 

What horses? It was quite confusing. 

“You’re all driving me up the wall,” Jesse had argued while Tracer and Hana were asking him to run to the store to get more cookies, since Soldier 76 had previously refused.

What wall? The man wasn’t driving? 

They wore their shoes indoors. 

He had prosthetics, so, he couldn’t exactly take them off when he entered. But, it surprised him, to see agents relaxing in a recreation room, wearing boots, Reinhardt nearly in full armor. 

Even when they had their private quarter doors cracked, they still had their shoes or boots on.

Jesse even sat on his bed in his shoes. How disgusting. 

They snacked, a lot.

He was constantly seeing an agent running around with food in their hands. Hana always having a soda, or a small bag of chips in her grasp. There was always someone in the kitchen, even at the odd hours. When he would become restless, unable to sleep. Off to the kitchen he would go, to make himself some tea.

He was either greeted by an agent, or one would eventually saunter on in. It was usually McCree, getting a cup of coffee, no matter how late it was, no matter how groggy he looked.

He had accidentally grabbed Hanzo’s mug of tea, wishing him a good night, and going back to his room, leaving the archer with the mug of freshly brewed coffee. He disliked coffee, it smelled nice, pleasant, in fact, but, he didn’t care for the taste.

The sharpshooter never came back out to get his coffee, either deciding to drink the tea, or was too embarrassed about stealing Hanzo’s tea, that he wouldn’t come back and own up to it.  
They didn’t seem to take training and practice seriously.

He rarely ever saw any of the agents at the shooting range, not that he minded, more room for him. 

He would occasionally see empty cartridges of what he believed was 76’s pulse rifle on the ground in the corner to be recycled. Sometimes he was greeted by empty boxes of revolver bullets sitting on the bench. Every time, he would go over and put them in the recycle bin. 

They were all selfless.

“Hanzo, y’ look cold,” McCree chuckled as they had gotten off of the transport, arriving in Nepal. Snow was on the ground, crunching beneath his prosthetics. “Guess someone didn’t get th’ memo,” the cowboy continued.

“I am fine,” Hanzo said, the cold breeze brushing across the bare part of his chest, causing a shiver to race down his spine. He was positive the other had seen it.

“Y’ don’t look fine, here,” he chuckled cigar hanging out of his mouth as he wrapped his serape around Hanzo, draping it and adjusting it a certain way to cover the exposed skin of the man’s chest. “There, better for th’ weather,” McCree tipped his hat before moving onward, leaving Hanzo to reach up, hands running along the warm material of the item he had just been given.  
They liked to relax often.

“Look who came t’ enjoy the sun,” McCree grinned, sitting down at the shore of Ilios. 

“I wanted some fresh air,” Hanzo said, squinting a bit from the sun as he walked over, sitting a ways away from the cowboy, prosthetics dangling off the edge, a few feet above the water. 

“Yer gonna burn.”

“Excuse me?” Hanzo said, glancing up at the other.

“I said, yer gonna burn. Can tell ya didn’t heed Mercy’s warning of sunscreen,” he chuckled, “no one did. You’ll burn t’ a crisp, yer so pale,” McCree shook his head, pulling the cigar from his mouth, blowing smoke away from the archer. “Here,” he said, tugging his hat off, leaning over, just about falling over onto the concrete, plopping his hat onto the other’s head. 

“Might not protect yer shoulders, but, it’ll protect yer face and ears at least,” McCree smiled, glancing over his shoulder. Mercy glaring at him before pointing to the ‘NO SMOKING’ sign that was posted.

“Uh oh, Overwatch police are ‘ere,” he chuckled, pulling himself to his feet, cigar between gloved fingers as he wandered off to find an area where he could relax and smoke.

Hanzo sat there, watching the waves ripple beneath his feet, the hat covering his face and ears from the harsh sun that he had forgotten about. 

They were sacrificial.

“You okay?” McCree asked, gloved hand reaching up to adjust his hat. Blood seeped from the hole in his shoulder. His serape darkening by a few shades slowly and steadily. 

“Why did you do that? You put yourself in the line of fire for no reason,” Hanzo argued, bow resting by his side, the cobblestone of Kings Row dug into the palms of his hands before he shifted, pressing them against the wound.

“I had m’ reason, you. Ya were gonna get shot, can’t let that happen darlin’,” he gave the other a curt nod, tipping his hat, per usual. Even when bleeding, he was still tipping that damn hat. 

“I would have been fine,” Hanzo insisted.

“Darlin’, ya come up t’ my shoulders, would have got ya dead between th’ eyes,” McCree remarked, a goofy grin on his face.

“Stop smiling, this is serious,” Hanzo chided, hands soon becoming stained with red. 

They were caring. 

Hanzo watched, throughout the day, as various agents came in to visit him in his room, Tracer brought flowers, Genji brought a card. Hana brought a snack. 

“Ya okay? Seemed a bit shook up last night,” McCree said, gazing over at the archer, shoulder bandaged up.

“I’m feeling much better, thank you,” Hanzo said, going and sitting in the seat next to the bed. “You, you saved my life, you have my deepest gratitude,” he continued, bowing his head. 

“We’re a team now darlin’, I’ll be there to watch yer back. Yer too short to see ‘em coming anyways,” McCree laughed loudly.

For once, Hanzo didn’t flinch at the obnoxious laughter, lips curving up a bit into a smile. 

Hanzo scoffed, eyes fixating on the flowers that people had brought in. They were beautiful.

They were united.

“Sssh, I got ya pardner,” McCree said, gently wrapping his serape around the archer, whom had fallen asleep on the couch in the recreational room.

“Jesse,” Hanzo whined a bit as the cowboy picked him up, holding him firmly, legs dangling as the man smiled. 

“I got ya, don’t worry, Jesse’s ‘ere, let’s get ya in bed, it’s late,” he said softly, voice hushed for once. It was odd, hearing the other whisper. Hanzo peeked open an eye, glancing up, the other seemed to be more focused on getting to Hanzo’s room than to notice the shorter male looking up at him. It was odd, seeing McCree in casual clothes. Deep brown sweatpants with a white tee shirt on. Something simple to wear to bed. 

He closed his eyes, face nuzzling down into the serape. It smelled like whiskey, cologne, gun powder, smoke. Everything that Jesse smelled like. 

“Let’s get ya tucked in,” the man said, sauntering over to the bed, holding onto the other with one hand as he tugged back the blankets on the bed, gently setting him down in it before pulling the blankets up over the smaller man.

“Jesse,” Hanzo whispered, deep brown eyes gazing up at the other.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get m’ serape tomorrow,” he assured him.

“Stay,” Hanzo insisted, shifting over a bit. 

“I’ll be happy to oblige on that one darlin’,” the man tipped his hat, gently pulling it off and setting it on the bedside table before hoping into bed. Hanzo shimmied out of his top, dropping it off of the bed as the other joined him. 

Jesse radiated body heat like no tomorrow, something, Hanzo desperately wanted.

“Sleep tight pardner,” McCree whispered gently, shifting slightly as the archer pressed his back up against the cowboy’s chest.

“Good night Jesse.”

They were his family, his loved ones, and his life.


End file.
